


The Picture In The Attic

by SisterWine



Category: X-Men (AU), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Canadian In A Tent, Civil War, Diary Reading, F/M, M/M, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 17:25:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4530675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SisterWine/pseuds/SisterWine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remy finds an old picture of a Union soldier in his attic. The letter attached tells a story that Remy can't put down.</p><p>DISCLAIMER: THE X-MEN, JACQUES, & JEAN-LUC DO NOT BELONG TO ME. THEY ARE THE PROPERTY OF MARVEL COMICS AND 20th CENTURY FOX. THE ONLY CHARACTERS THAT ARE MINE, ARE THE TWO CHILDREN IN THE STORY. NO MONEY EXCHANGED, JUST FOR FUN.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Being up from 5AM, getting ready for work and making sure the kids were off to school, and then not being able to end his day until their last bedtime call at 9, was not one of his favourite tasks. But he took it in stride and weakened into the hum-drum life of fatherhood. He was an architect by trade, and father by default. After his wife inconveniently left him for someone else, he picked up the pieces of his two children's wounded hearts and pushed on.

The oldest of the two had been the most angry for him to deal with. Alexander Michel LeBeau was a very heartfelt 9 year old who saw through most of his mother's empty promises. He had seen fit to take on and handle what his younger sister, Roberta, could not. Alex had taken down every single picture of his mother he could find, with exception of the few in his father's room, and placed them in a box in the closet. He took longer to go to bed at night than his sister. Often arguing with Remy on staying up til later, he made it until 9, and then fell asleep, usually on the livingroom floor.

Roberta was a soft and understanding little girl of only 7. She was quiet and sweet when it came to hard details of family but, she easily strode through with grace. Every evening, she'd wait for Remy to finish the dishes and walk upstairs to read her a chapter of her favourite story, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. She'd lie there in her bed, on her right side, and snuggle her floppy yellow bunny close while staring at only him as she listened. By the fifth page, she was asleep.

Closing the book and shutting off the tiny dollhouse light that sat on the floor, beside the pink and yellow frilly bed, she leaned over and kissed her temple before leaving the room. He always left her door open a crack so he could hear her in the night if she got up or had a bad dream, which was rare.

He sighed as he turned around and returned to the downstairs livingroom to gather his sleeping boy and place him in bed before heading to bed himself. As he scooped Alex into his arms, a roll of faint thunder sounded from a ways off but, would eventually grow as it came closer. By mid-staircase, it was strong enough to feel through the house in a dull rumble. Remy paused and waited for movement from Alex, or a sound from Bobbie's room. Nothing, good.

Tucking Alex into his black and blue racecar bed with black and white checkered sheets and blanket, he kissed the boy's forehead and stood there a moment to watch the boy sleep and twitch in his dreams. The room had been dark and lit only by the hall light that flickered during the next wave of thunder. Turning around, he tilt his head at the strange thump that came from the hall.

Checking the hallway before leaving the room and cracking the door, Remy shook his head as he walked back downstairs to shut off the lights and make sure the doors were locked. The upstairs hall light was the only light left on as he reclimbed the stairs to put himself to bed.

Another rumble, louder and with more than light shaking, rolled through the house. Another bump came from above, again. He stood at the top of the stairs and held onto the bannister, trying to place the bump. Pausing still as another rumble filled the house and then the bump, his attention was directed to his left. Turning to his left and walking to the corner before turning left again, to go to his bedroom, he stopped halfway between the corner and his door to look up.

The attic.

A medium sized rectangle dropdown door with ladder had made the bumping sound as the thunder shook the roof, causing the ladder to bounce. On the next rumble, Remy reached up to check the door but jumped back as the rumble became a roar and shook the door and ladder loose, letting the door drop open infront of him.

Startled, he sighed and caught the door in hand to latch it shut again. He pushed on the door when it wouldn't close all the way, and then tried holding the ladder while pushing, nothing worked. Opening the door and pulling out the ladder to climb, he peeked into the attic before climbing all the way up. As he stood at the top, he reached up and found a string to pull for the light.

It was a small attic but as wide as the house. Boxes of baby stuff from the children, as well as boxes from his father and grandfather. The small vented window to his far right, let in the flash of lightning before the thunder that followed 5 seconds later, shaking the dust from the rafters loose, in turn causing Remy to cough and sneeze as his took a breath.

Something heavy moved a few feet infront of him and he redirected his attention from the window to the object. The lightbulb dangled from a wire and swung a bit at the next rumble, causing the light the give only glimpses at the object. It wasn't a very bright bulb but it wasn't dim, either. It was just enough light for Remy to make his way over to the object and squat down to see.

A large rectangle frame that was covered with faded brown paper and held together with string was the thing that moved, balancing on mainly one of the beams that jutted up from the floor as the second one held the corner. It leaned against the wall and jumped at a dulled rumble of thunder before another loud one hit. Holding it with one hand, Remy reached up to the part in the paper and peeked through a hole before pulling on an end of string and letting the tie come undone. The paper held it's place as if the string was still there, until Remy opened a side of the paper to see the left half of a large oil painting.

Resting the back against the wall, he opened the right side of the paper to see the whole painting. It was a man, standing in the middle of a plantation field, dressed in Union General's clothes. His left hand on the pommel of his sword and his right limp to his side. A grizzly looking man with short black hair that seemed to stand out at the sides from underneath his hat contained a look on his face of silent dispair of possibly the army, or death of war, or..... something else.

Remy checked the sides and top and bottom for a name or a year or anything. Finding only a scratch on the back that said 1864, he sighed and adjusted it to sit on two beams as it rest against the wall. His fingers felt along the heavy, delicately carved frame only to find the twirls of designs held no secret words or letters, just swirls and bumps in tarnished gold painted wood. Another roar of thunder shook the house and the painting as well, revealing a tri-fold paper slip out from behind the painting. Picking up the paper and deciding to remove the picture from the attic to have better light in his bedroom, he tucked the paper into the back pocket of his tan khaki pants and braced his hands to lift. Grabbing the middle of each side and lifting as he stood up, he found it was a very heavy picture. The frame alone must have weighed 40 pounds.

It had taken him ten minutes to carry it over to the opening, and another ten minutes to get it down the ladder, and then five minutes to borrow Alex's skateboard to quietly roll it into his room. Sliding it off of the skateboard and leaning it against the wall at the foot of the bed took an additional 15 minutes due to the rolling of the skateboard. Panting and wiping his brow with the back of his right hand covered the sound of his little girl calling for him.

"Poppie! Poppie!" Bobbie sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes, trying not to cry as the loud thunder boomed outside her window. Board straight brown hair had been mussed and her long-sleeved pink nightgown had been wrapped around her in her struggles of sleep and dream. "Poppie!" She screamed as another clap roared through the house. This time her tears came freely and grew louder as Remy hurried through the door and turned on her light.

"Wha's a matter, petite?" He whispered as he sat down on the side of her bed, wrapping his arms around her as she buried her face in his chest. Soothing her hair and whispering in her ear that it was just noise outside, he managed to get her to lay back down while he thought of how to drown out the sound. A small cassette player sat on her toy-stuffed bookshelf and caught his eye. He stood up and lift the lid, finding no cassette inside. "Hmm. Be right back, belle." He left the room for a moment to rummage through his collection of tapes and cds he had in a box in his closet. Finding one that had always seemed to work for his wife, when she had been pregnant with Roberta, he hurried back into her room.

Adjusting the volume and readying the player, he pushed play and the soft, mellow voice of Nat King Cole caressed the room. Turning on the dollhouse light before kissing her forehead and telling her to close her eyes as he shut off the overhead light and sat back down on the side of her bed, he waited for her to finally drift off before leaving.

The blue numbers of the clock beside the bed read 11:35 as he removed the paper from his pocket and sat down on the end of the bed to stare at the painting before unfolding the note. The writing was an elegant cursive that held the smallest detail of having been written by a man.

 

Jacques,

I am sorry I cannot meet you like I promised.  
My duties come first in the waking hours but  
I hope you know I will be with you as soon as  
I can. I miss holding you and lying there with  
you, discussing better times together. You  
are always on my mind, from the moment  
I wake to the instant I fall asleep.

Until I can get away,

Logan

 

"Logan? And, Jacques....? Gran'pa?" Remy stared in shock at the carefully written words on the paper. The page itself had been old and yellowed from heat and age but, the words although faded, stood out like a neon sign. His first thought was to ring his father and ask him about the painting. His next thought was to wait until morning. Glancing up to look at the painting, he stood and walked around to the opposite side of the bed to pick up the cordless phone and dial his father's number.

It rang only twice before Jean-Luc picked up and mumbled a sleepy, "Hello?" into the phone. He had been asleep only a few hours, dozing off in the middle of a book that lay open on his chest. The bedside light had been on and he squinted as he opened his eyes to look at the clock.

"Poppa, you up?" Remy paced the legnth of his bed, his free hand holding the note at his side as the other held the phone to his ear.

Jean-Luc pushed himself to sit up in his weary state and close the book that fell to his lap. "Depends. Can dis wait 'til mornin, Remy?" He rubbed his eyes with his index finger and thumb as he waited for Remy to answer.

"Honestly, yes but--" Remy stopped pacing and faced the window, turning his back on the bed he had originally wanted to crawl into and pass out.

"Den, no." Jean-Luc had been ready to hang up his antique rotary phone when a word stopped him.

Remy took a breath and said as loud and clearly as he could without waking the children. "Logan." He paused a moment to hear his father's breath catch as the name was uttered. "Who was he, poppa? And why did Jacques have his paintin in my attic?" He turned around to walk over and close his door, glancing at the painting as he passed it. Pushing the door to so that it silently latched, he turned back to look at the man in the painting.

"He was a man who fought for de Union in de war. Was also your grandpa's....." he paused to clear his throat and brush the reluctance of the rest off as he finished. "secret lover. Remy, why bring dis up now, in the middle of the night?"

"Because I found the paintin in de attic, an' I don' remember puttin it up dere, poppa. Sides, how come I never heard of dat side of Jacques?" Remy sat down on the floor, in front of the painting and narrowed his eyes at the face of the man, studying it. "What happened to dem?"

Jean-Luc hesitated his answer, weighing it on what Remy should know and what the family wanted him to know. "My father was a young man when de Civil War broke out. He was only a young captain in de Confederate Army when he met an older, Union Lieutenant in Vicksburg. When Jacques came home from de front, he told his sister dat Logan took him prisoner and dey spent de night 'gettin to know one 'nother on a personal basis.' Anyway, after de war, Logan came lookin for him. He got as far as Baton Rouge 'fore he was caught and lynched as a yankee." He paused to listen to Remy's even breathing, hearing slight flinches as he told the story.

"So, where does de paintin come in, and de letter?" Remy was bound and determined to solve the puzzle before he went to bed. A hushed yawn over the phone reminded Remy that he was also tired but couldn't think of going to bed just yet. "Poppa?"

"For six years dey wrote back an' forth, meetin when dey could and keepin it in secret. De paintin, Logan had done for him a year before the war ended. De letter came just prior to Logan's lynchin. Logan never gave up de reason why he was in Baton Rouge with yankee colours." Jean-Luc yawned again. "Remy, go to bed. We'll talk in de mornin." Before Remy could protest and keep him on the phone longer, he hung up and turned off the bedside lamp as he laid back down.

Giving in to his father's order, Remy laid down and closed his eyes. The man in the painting ran through his mind as he imagined being in Jacques shoes and being taken prisoner of a Union soldier. Images of the war and men dying all around him, the smell of copper and iron of blood filled his nose and threatened nausea. The sounds of gasping and grunting and tender kisses of lips on lips and skin filled his ears. He could see Logan in his mind but, heard no voice as the man's lips were speaking to him- Jacques. They kissed briefly, and then went their separate ways from Logan's tent, in the middle of the Mississippi forest on a cool and foggy early July morning.

The next sound Remy heard was the music of his alarm telling him it was 6 in the morning. He had overslept by a half hour and that he needed to get up and get ready for the day. He was just about to sit up when the announcer came on the radio and ran down a list of schools that were closed due to flooding or no electricity from the night's storm. "Perfect." He groaned and rolled from his back to his left side, shutting off the alarm and yawning himself back to sleep for a little while longer.

 

Continued.....


	2. Chapter 2

Remy rolled over at 8 o' clock and opened his eyes to stare out the window of a gloomy but somewhat sunny morning. Hearing the air conditioner switch on and feeling the first breath of the cool air, he sat up and looked about. Clearing his throat and taking a deep breath before turning and sliding off the bed from the end, he found the picture of the soldier staring at him. "What am I gonna do wit' you?" He asked out loud, not expecting anyone to answer.

Standing up and making his way into the hallway, he quietly peeked into each of the bedrooms to find the children still asleep. Closing Alex's door he turned to go downstairs to call his office and tell them he had to stay home for the day. He stood in the kitchen, making coffee and phone calls to contractors and one more to his father. He was bound and determined to get to the bottom of the Jacques/Logan story if he had to search the family library himself.

"Remy, I told you las' night what happened, now please, let de story rest." Jean-Luc sighed as he sat at the great oak diningroom table and ate his breakfast. Taking a bite of a long, crisp piece of bacon and chewing slowly, he waited for Remy's rebuttal. He hadn't really been able to go back to sleep since Remy rang him at an ungodly hour, asking him about Jacques. He knew he was never to tell about his father, and he never had to until Remy found the blasted picture he was to destroy in the first place.

Pushing the button to the coffee maker, Remy started to phrase what he wanted to say. "Poppa, dis picture in my room ain't goin away. Is he de reason Jacques went crazy?"

Jean-Luc's bite caught in mid chew. He had barely known why his father was the way he was, growing up. "I don' know why you're asking me about him, Remy. Momma said that he was different after he came home. I don't know much about him. But, Remy, leave this be. Dat was a long time ago and Poppa....." His voice trailed off as childhood memories of a somewhat useless father came back to him. Jacques was a loving father and good husband to his mother but, he seemed quite distant to be around.

"War changes everyone, poppa." Remy stood there and watched the coffee drip into the pot as he spoke. He was still in his clothes from the day before and only noticed it when he reached for a glass mug above the coffee maker. The same yellow shirt he had on was wrinkled, as was his tan pants when he looked down.

"It wasn' de war that changed him. Not all." Jean-Luc sighed and lifted his eyes to the pastel painted ceiling. "Remy, get de children cleaned up, an' I'll be over in a bit. Might have somethin for you." He pushed the button on the small, black cordless phone and placed it beside him on the table while he finished his breakfast.

Remy set the phone down on the cupboard and finished his coffee before going back up to see if the children were awake. He found Alex awake and sitting on the floor of his darkened room, playing a video game on a small 12" television. "Alex, get dressed. Gran'pa be here in a bit."

"Kay." Was the zoned out reply.

Peeking into Roberta's room, Remy was a bit startled at not finding her anywhere in her room. Thinking she might be in the bathroom, he walked back into the hall and stopped as he caught her standing in his room. "What's doin, cherie?" A cheerful question as he walked into his room and stood besidde her.

Roberta stared at the painting of the man, on the floor, and pointed to it. "Poppie, who's dat?" She asked, not taking her eyes off of the man in the picture.

"Just a man, baby." Smiling and scooping her up into his arms, he kissed her cheek and hugged her good morning.

The little girl shivered as she stared at it. "Scary, no?" Turning to see Remy smiling at her, she smiled back and wrapped her arms about his neck. "Gran'pa's coming here?"

Remy nodded. "Go get dressed." He patted her back and set her down,listening to her run out of the room and back into hers and shutting her door. He stared at the painting for a moment before turning to go back downstairs to fix breakfast.

~~~~~~~~~~

Remy opened the front door just five minutes after 11, to greet his father who was just about to ring the doorbell. "Mornin. De kids been waitin for you." He smiled and stepped to the side so that Jean-Luc could come in. He had showered and changed clothes and was somewhat curious to see what Jean-Luc had for him.

"Grandpa!" Alex called happily as he leapt into Jean-Luc's arms from the last step as he came down stairs. He was lifted and hugged and set down so that his sister could push past him and receive her hug.

Both children were dressed warmly but since Roberta would sometimes get too cold, she already had her winter coat on. "Gran'pa! Poppie said you'd come!" She hugged him tightly and sat in his arms as he kissed her cheek and looked to Remy. She tugged on his shirt sleeve to tell him that she put her hair in a ponytail all by herself. Smiling brightly as he patted her head and told her to go watch television with her brother for a moment, she nodded and skipped away happily.

Jean-Luc refocused on Remy and waved him outside to his car. "Got somethin for ya. Need your help gettin it in de house." He paused on the front step to good-sized house, with circular driveway and nodded to the back end of his brand new Grand Marquise. Turning to Remy, he had a thought. "Why don't I take de kids for de weekend, an' let you have dis to rummage t'rough?"

Catching just what Jean-Luc was talking about, Remy's jaw dropped as his eyes stared at an enormous old, gray trunk, half hidden by the trunk lid and sitting very tall in the roomy space. "What is dat?" He asked, forgetting all about his small mystery he had placed on himself about his family's history. His feet took timed steps forward but he was oblivious to the trunk until he lift the trunk lid of the car.

"Dat's my poppa's trunk from de war. You said you wanted to know 'bout Jacques before me so, here it is." Grabbing one side's wooden handle and waiting for Remy to get the other side, Jean-Luc thought to himself of what might have been in the trunk that Remy was looking for. He counted down and they lift on the last number, swinging it carefully over the side and inching slowly back into the house, setting it down on the floor of the livingroom.

Alex leaned over the back of the plush peach sofa and wrinkled his nose at the trunk. "What is that? Some dusty piece of junk yer gonna sell, pop?" He glanced up at Remy and raised an eyebrow as Remy shook his head.

"Dis trunk belongs to your great gran'pa. S' jus' gonna sit here for a few days while your poppa goes t'rough it." Remy clapped his hands and told them to go upstairs and lay two pairs of clothing out on their beds and wait until he went up to help pack for the weekend. He waited until he could hear them running into their room and open and slam dresser drawers before he said anything. "Merci, poppa but, you sure you want to take dem for de whole weekend?

Jean-Luc nodded and stared at the trunk with an almost despising of it. "Oui. Dis trunk's been sittin in his room for nigh 60 years an' it's about time someone opened it. But, uh," He paused and changed his expression to a sullen look as he lightly moved his hand across the broad, hard and dusty top of it. "whatever ya find in there, I don't need to know. Was a good father but,......" His voice trailed off as his eyes focused on one spot. He stood there for a moment and when he spoke again, looking from the lid to Remy, his tone had changed into something of a warning. "Jacques never talked about de war, or before momma. In his eyes, dere was always something else he was seeing, and not us. He died when I was young and momma refused to hear anything about it. You can look in dere but, it stays in dere."

Remy nodded.

Roberta was the first one back down the stairs as she huddled ino Jean-Luc's side for a hug. Her brother was only a few steps behind her and came to stop in front of Jean-Luc and ask if they were spending the night at his house.

Leaving them alone to talk with him, Remy excused himself and climbed the stairs to pack their clothes and things they needed. Gathering her pink schoolbag and placing her things inside, he wondered what his father meant, and why he wasn't curious as well. Packing Alex's bag, who had tried to do it for Remy, his mind snapped at what Jean-Luc had said about Jacques, before he became a family man. When he returned downstairs, bags in hand, he smiled as Jean-Luc had been in the middle of both children telling him two entirely different things about their week. "Hey, that's enough. Leave him be and ya can tell him later."

Roberta came around the side of the sofa and stretched her arms up for Remy to lift her into his arms and hugged him. "You're not coming, poppie?" She asked, laying her head on his shoulder. Her long brown hair hung lifeless down the side of his arm as she hugged him.

"No petite. Poppa's got somethin to do. But, you two are gonna have too much fun to notice I'm not dere." Patting her back and setting her down, he looked to Jean-Luc as he stood up and turned around to face him. "You ready, poppa?"

Jean-Luc nodded and patted Alex's back to move forward and come around to where Remy and Bobbie were standing. "I think we have alot to do today. We should get goin. Who's ready for de zoo?"

Both children lit up and turned around to raise one hand each and jump in place before him, calling "Me! Me! Me! Me, gran'pa!" One by one, they turned around and hugged and kissed Remy goodbye as they both ran for the door and out to wait by Jean-Luc's car.

Remy said his thank yous and goodbye to Jean-Luc before grabbing his arm and asking the real reason as to why he was given the trunk. He was only smiled at and welcomed as Jean-Luc was placing something in his hand and closing it. An old, heavy, thick key that would unlock alot of the mystery behind his grandfather and the painting of the man named "Logan."

"I'll bring them back on Sunday, after dinner." Hugging Remy and stopping to look at the trunk one last time, he let a wave of sadness show on his face before turning for the door.

Showing him to his car and waving goodbye to the kids, buckled and ready in the back seat, he stood on the front step and watched the car disappear down the drive. Going back inside, Remy shut and locked the door and stared at the key in his hand for a long moment. He sighed and went to the kitchen to reheat a cup of morning's coffee before tending to his task.

~~~~~~~~~

Remy placed the cup of hot, black coffee on the small glass coffee table he had brought around to sit behind him, to avoid the flutter of dust in his coffee. Kneeling in front and wiping the front, sides and top off with a wet cloth, Remy took the key from his pants pocket and hesitated before placing it in the lock and opening the lid.

Neatly folded on top were uniform jackets from the war that blanketed the many papers and books and weapons this massive trunk contained. Placing the clothing carefully on the floor, beside him, as well as the many loose papers of deeds and bills, Remy came across a small rounded, and tarnished silver mirror underneath of a fragile and faded, tan photograph of a man who didn't smile. Remy looked closely at the picture and gasped as he saw himself in the mirror. "Mon dieu! C'est moi." He hadn't realised that he said it in French, nor had he realised that he held the same expression of incompleteness that Jacques so often wore.

He placed the photo on the table, by the cup and took a sip of coffee to shake loose the feeling of de ja vouz. Holding the cup in his hands and feeling the warmth, he stared at the picture until the livingroom became dark with storm clouds rising outside. Standing up and reaching for the lightswitch, on the wall that concealed the steps upstairs, he turned it on and blinked at the sudden brightness of two lamps on either side of the room.

Suddenly, the trunk hadn't looked so old. Clothing and papers set neatly around his space he retrieved, he looked down into the seemingly bottomless trunk and pulled out another uniform and more papers that were not belonging to Jacques. "What is this?" He whispered, and stared closely at the material and design of the foreign uniform.

He stood up and hurried upstairs to stand in front of the painting in his room. "I knew it!" He said out loud, startling himself in the breaking of silence. The Union shell jacket, still neatly folded in his hands, matched the one Logan was wearing in the painting. Running his fingers under the lapel of the left side, he held it up to open it and heard a thump as something hit the floor, between his feet.

Looking down and draping the jacket over his left arm while reaching to pick the book up, he read the cover and stood straight up before he moved to open it. "Journal" was elegantly written in brilliant gold letters that seemed almost new save for the slightly worn binding of the book.

The walls had begun to close in and Remy felt he needed to sit down and catch his breath. Sinking down onto the corner of his bed, he eyes never left the cover of the book. Running his fingers over the letters, he glanced up to the painting to see Logan appearing to be staring at him. "Is dis yours, monsieur?" He asked the painting, holding the book out in one hand. "Or, is it Jacques?" He hadn't brought himself to open it as he wondered what the inside would have. Empty pages of worthless babblings from his grandfather gone mad, or about a sensual love between two people that was clearly looked down upon in the eyes of the public?

His heart raced, and pounded heavily in his chest and he opened the cover and read the first beautifully written entry. His eyes grew wide, snapping the book shut and turning to stare fully at Logan's picture in such shock as the man stared cooly back at him. Shaking his head and then reaching to the floor, where he had dropped the uniform jacket, he picked it up and found himself holding it gently like a newborn child in his arms.

 

Continued.


	3. Chapter 3

Remy found himself reading page after page of the journal, becoming so intent that he neglected the hour until late. Beautiful swirls of practiced cursive spun together forming elegant words of lust and devotion.

One entry read how Jacques and his regiment were led by Lt. General John Pemberton into Vicksburg to fight against General Grant in a multi-city attack full of confusion, victory and inevitable defeat by Grant. It was here that the military tone changed to that of hate for the other side, and then to unexpected friendship and romance of one soldier to another.

July 2, 1863

It is my turn to stand guard at the West Post of the town.  
Several of us have been stabbed and killed by an unknown  
predator during the night. John [Pemberton] thinks Grant  
is up to foolishness and so asked me to watch over my  
small group of men.

I am now two hours into my watch, and so far I only  
hear the crickets chirping through ringing in my ears  
from the loud canons of the day. Neither me or  
Private Flynn hear anything. The night is peaceful  
to us.

By my second cup of coffee, I hear strange rustlings  
in the trees. I am going to check on the sounds. I  
have already told Flynn to watch for my light if  
danger finds me. 11.32 PM.

Leaning back into a tub of hot bathwater, Remy held the book above water and read the very entry over and over again, imagining Jacques standing at his post and scribbling the words down before closing the book and turning to the dark forest. He turned the page and found the next entry to be on the morning of the 3rd of July.

His head rest against the wall and his body, balancing on his bottom to stay in one place, began pulsing with entrancement in each word. He read of Jacques capture and lost fight of freedom as a bear of a man attacked him from a tall tree and forced him into submitting, after he was pressed to the ground with what felt like a knifepoint in his back. As he savoured each word, he began to close his eyes and place himself as his grandfather, being overrun by a Union soldier.

Remy closed the book and placed it on the lid to the wicker hamper, beside the tub, before sighing and sinking lower into the warmth. It was evening already and he chose a bath before finishing his investigation into Jacques mysterious past. His mind replayed the words in his head as if listening to a recording while seeing the pictures of the story play out.

July 3, 1863

Since my last writings, I have become prisoner  
to the most unique of men. I am not bound nor  
gagged but I can feel him guarding me,  
eventhough he is asleep.

I came upon him last night during my check of  
a noise. I was well into the forest when he  
dropped down from a tree and knocked my  
musket out of my hands. I was able to turn  
around and see my attacker before he was  
gone from in front of me, and came to stand  
behind me. I could hear his wicked laugh as  
he swung at my coat with knives.

We rolled around in the dirt and leaves and  
fought as two wild men. The look in his eyes  
was as if he had forgotten he was wearing a  
yankee uniform. He was able to best me by  
shoving me to the ground, again, and pressing  
what felt like a knife to my back. I could hear  
his cruel whisper in my ear, telling me not to  
move. I did not.

I now find myself in his tent, in the middle of  
the forest. I believe us to be on the outskirts  
of Grant's armies. However, I cannot say  
completely.

He lay there in the tub for awhile, with his eyes closed. He had skimmed over a few entries after the capture and found himself picturing what happened. Relaxing back into the tub as Jacques lay back on the bed, and moved his hand flatly across his chest as Logan had done to his counterpart. Moving his hand down to his waist and stopping just before his erection, his fingers tickled the patch of skin at the base before slowly wrapping his hand around his manhood.

~~~~~~~~~

Logan was fully dressed in his uniform but took the time to undress Jacques while exploring his smooth and hairless body. Tossing the shell jacket aside and carefully unbuttoning the shirt's five breast buttons, Logan sighed annoyed and pulled the whole garment off of his captive. He watched as Jacques' eyes followed the shirt as it landed on floor, along with the jacket, before making another daring move.

"What are you doing? I have no secret compar'ments on my body." Jacques lay there on the cot, reclining on his elbows and giving the man a dangerously brave look. A hand came up to the back of his neck and held him there. He found himself staring into the eyes of his captor and fighting an urge to shiver as the man let go of his neck and wrapped his fingers around the thin band that held his long ponytail. His head jerked back as the band slipped off of the hair, letting auburn locks spill free.

Crouching just over his prisoner, Logan smiled wickedly. "I ain't lookin for compartments. But since you brought it up....." His eyes shifted lower, to Jacques' pants. He began to unfasten them and only smirked as Jacques grabbed at the sides of the cot out of startlement. Removing the pants along with heavy black calvary boots, Logan tossed the clothes into a pile on the far side of the tent. Standing up to stare down at the young captain, Logan added. "I prefer to question my prisoners without having to worry about what they might be hiding." He grinned at the site of a naked Confederate Captain, frozen in terror and humiliation, laying on his cot. "Now, why don't you start by tellin me yer name, rank, and all that."

Tensing as he sat up and covered his manhood with his hands, a firm answer was replied with a deep Cajun drawl. "Captain Jacques LeBeau, 15th regiment to de Confederate States, under President Davis. What does a yankee like you care?" Jacques glared at his short, hairy and timid captor.

"Who's yer commandin officer, so I'll know where to send the body?"

Jacques didn't answer. Instead, he stared at the man who stood not 3 paces away, and plotted multiple escape routes in his head.

Logan lift his left foot and placed it against the side of the cot, draping his arms across his thigh and leaning over to ask again. "Commandin officer, boy." He leaned forward even more to stare into Jacques' eyes and growl his anger as his question continued to go unanswered.

"Since ya gonna kill me anyway, why should I tell ya? I'm bettin you already know where my camp is, you can bring me dere. If you so bold." Jacques spat a clever retort that made Logan lean back and sigh again in annoyance.

"I kill if I see fit. But, right now, I just want answers or you just might get to go home in a pine box." Logan growled louder, leaned forward and reached for the back of Jacques head to grab a fist full of soft auburn hair. "Commanding officer, now!"

Jacques groaned at his hair being pulled and head being tossed back, harshly. "Pemberton. Lt. General John C. Pemberton. Don't Grant tell you Northern boys anythin?" Feeling bold enough to glare at his verbal attacker, Jacques balled his fists and snarled at the man.

A glare that turned into a smirk and then a quiet laugh as Logan sat back, releasing Jacques' hair. "Nope. He don't. Lieutenant Logan Howlett, 5th regiment from New York." He introduced himself and smiled a smug smile. "For the record." Logan retreated his foot from the cot and stood up to turn around and pick up the pile of clothing and go through it.

"I've told you who I am, must you go through thin's dat ain't yers, too?" Jacques scowled as Logan squat down and picked up the gray jacket. Since he had begun to argue with Logan, he had forgotten that he sat there in the nude. Seeing Logan going through his clothes regained his humility and made him shiver.

Logan tossed the crumpled shirt back at Jacques. "Just tired of you shiverin like a scared rabbit."

A cool breeze from the air conditioner made Remy shiver as he opened his eyes to find himself sitting in cold bathwater. He hadn't realised that while his eyes were closed, thinking of being undressed by Logan, he was enjoying the private show in exhibition. He began stroking himself, slowly, and as the scene intensified, Remy found something so erotic in the way Logan had carefully undressed him and stood there as if to admire him? It had only aroused him more that Logan paid no attention to the man's naked body but, leaned forward to ask his questions. He came as Logan had pulled his hair and growled at him, finding something so sexual and predatorial in that that Remy lost all control. Taking a deep breath before sitting forward to drain the water, he stood up and turned the faucet on, letting warm water caress his body. The entry still fresh in his mind as he soaped his body and his hair before rinsing and shutting the water off. Hurriedly, Remy dried himself and picked up the book from the hamper lid, making his way back into the bedroom.

~~~~~~~~~

Slipping on his gray sweatpants and carrying the damp towel back to the towelrack in the bathroom, he paused to look at the painting. "Naughty man, mon brave. Naughty naughty." Shaking his head and continuing, he laughed to himself about his curious fantasy.

The journal he had left sitting on the bed, while he yawned and shuffled back down the stairs to shut off lights and check the doors to be locked. Leaving the livingroom for last, he walked over to the trunk and looked about the contents still inside. Something caught his eye at the bottom and he bent over, reached in and let it sit in his palm as he stood back up.

A small silver, oval locket with a tiny raised cross on the front, accompanied by a thin silver chain. Hesitating before opening it, he had a feeling he knew what he would find. Two small pictures on either side; one of Logan and the other of Jacques. "Talk about obsession." He said quietly and tucked the locket into his right pocket as he closed the lid and shut off the lights, leaving the room.

Remy closed his bedroom door and took out the locket as he sat down on the bed, facing the painting. His hand idled over the cover of the journal as he stared into Logan's eyes on the painting. He held the locket in his left hand and let his thumb run over the cross, almost rubbing it away. The other hand held the book tightly as if he were afraid to let it go.

The phone rang and Remy jumped at the sudden noise that broke the intense quiet. Getting up and letting go of the book, he turned and walked over to the phone on the empty side of the bed. He pushed the button and said hello.

"It's me, poppie. Bobbie." The tiny voice of a 7 year old spoke up.

Remy smiled. "Hey petite. It's late, non?" He stared at the blue numbers on the clock on his side of the bed as he asked.

Roberta sniffled and answered. "Yea but, gran'pa says I can call you and tell you goodnight. Alex says g'night too, and dat I'm a baby fer callin' you. But, gran'pa says dat it's his phone an' I can call if I want to. You miss me, poppie?"

Choking on his slight sorrow of her words, Remy smiled even more and nodded to himself. "Oui, chile. I miss you so much but, you have fun wit' your grandpa an' I'll see you on Sunday. Okay? I love you, petite. G'night."

"Night, poppie!" Was the cheerful reply before she blew a kiss into the phone and hung up to go to bed.

"Night cherie." He whispered as he pushed the button to hang up the phone. Placing it back on the stand, he yawned again. Being that the light overhead had been on, Remy walked back around the end of the bed and hit the light, leaving the bedside light on. He crawled onto the bed and leaned against the headboard, with the locket and journal in his hand.

He stared at the painting a moment before yawning again and placing the book and locket on his nightstand. Sinking down into the bed, he reached up to turn off the light and lay there in the darkness, thinking about the night in Logan's tent, and if it was coincidence that he looked like his grandfather. "Morning. I'll get to it in de morning." He told himself as the last thing he saw between his closing eyes, was the portrait of Logan.

Continued......


	4. Chapter 4

Jacques sat on the cot and put on his shirt as quickly as possible. He stole glances out of the corner of his eye as Logan inspected his CS Richmond Musket, bayonet and small pack he always carried. Keeping his eye on Logan after clothing himself, he glanced about the floor for his hairtie.

It had fallen beside the head of the cot, and he slowly reached over to pick it up. He stopped as he heard the sound of metal unsheathing. Looking up as he paused in his movements, Jacques came face to face with 3 shiny blades that seemed to spring out of Logan's right hand. A nervous swallow as he didn't move.

Logan glared at the young man. "Plannin on leavin so soon?" He asked, gruffly. Still hunckered over the pack and gun, Logan extended his right arm so that the bladetips pointed upward, spacing themselves within half an inch of Jacques' nose. The chill in his voice seemed to pass like fog throughout the tent.

Jacques continued his reach and picked up the tie to slowly show him what he was after. "My hair bothers me." He snapped back as he sat up and pulled his hair back into the tie. When he finished, he managed a good look at the man's weapons and held his breath in. "Northern boys call us barbarians, yet you are de most barbaric of de accusers." Narrowing his eyes, he relaxed as he saw changed in Logan's expression.

Pulling his claws back in and lowering his arm, Logan snarled at the young Captain on his cot. "I ain't from the North. South, either. Grant wrote me in Canada to come help round up 'vermin.'" A sly grin appeared as he knew he had gotten to his captive.

Jacques scowled. "De Confederate States were doin just fine wit'out de yankee nuisance. We are wit'in our rights to live as we please, and keep our property as we please."

That did it. Bolting up and grabbing Jacques by the neck, Logan growled and came nose to nose with him. "You think owning someone else is a right? You think it makes you better than anyone else? Life in itself is a privelage, not a right!" His teeth ground as the words hissed at his captive. "But if you think slavery is right and just,...." Logan paused and let go of him to remove a long coil of rope from his own pack and loop one end around Jacques' neck and tie it loosely before wrapping the middle around slender wrists. "then you are now my slave." Forcing Jacques to lay back down on the cot, he pulled Jacques' wrists over his head and tied the end to the bar across the head of the cot.

Struggling and demanding to be released, Jacques spat vile, cruel words at Logan as he calmly stood up and turned away from him. "Least we keep to our own kind!" He managed to say before Logan turned back around and backhanded him across the left cheek. It hurt but he remained turned away from Logan until he heard the man go back and busy himself with Jacques' pack again.

During the half hour silence, Jacques took the time to look about his captor's tent. The shape of it resembled something of a smaller version to a circus' big top tent. A wooden pole stood in the middle and held the whole tent top up as well as a small, square shaving mirror. In the corner across from him, sat an overstuffed knapsack that was open, showing clothes and food and utensils.

Logan took a deep breath and stood up after finishing his searched through Jacques' things and unbuttoned his coat. He removed a cigar from an inside pocket. Turning to go outside, he paused to glance back at Jacques who in turn glared back at him, and continued his stroll outside. Once outside, he stood just in front of the tent flaps and silently laughed to himself as his ears picked up soft grunts and whispered curses of Jacques tugging and squirming in his tight bonds.

He stood outside and casually smoked his cigar, occasionally smiling and laughing as his prisioner remained fantastically tied to the cot with no possible way of escape. Curses, grunts, moans and pants came from the tent behind him and Logan found it quite enjoyable to let the barely clothed captive work his frustrations out on the ropes and cot before asking him anymore questions.

When he finished, he tossed the cigar on the ground and snuffed it out with his foot before going back inside to take a look at how far Jacques had gotten. Lifting the flap and ducking in before letting it drop closed behind him, he smiled at the scene as Jacques had been in a different position.

Jacques had turned to kneel while bending over and trying to bite the knot out of the ropes. The shirtend had been pulled and gathered so that it rest on his hips, letting his firm, thin and pale arse hang out. He hadn't noticed Logan stepped back into the tent, and raised his hips as if the leverage of his body would somehow force the knot out and let him free. He spread his knees apart, widely, and pulled himself into a small ball and he had given up on the end that teathered him to the cot, and now worked on the knot at his neck.

Logan smiled but still said nothing. Quietly removing his jacket, he moved to place himself close behind Jacques and press his body against him as he grabbed Jacques' wrists. "Made a good knot for ya, huh? What's the matter, don't like my company?" He asked as if he hadn't been subjected to the multitude of cursings Jacques spilled out in both French and English. He straddled the cot and subconsciously pressed his groin against Jacques' rear end as he reached around to hold the thin wrists away from the knots.

"Remove dese damn t'ings at once! After de South wins dis tussle, I'll see you front o' a firin squad!" His anger had caused his accent to thicken as he struggled against Logan's stomach, rubbing unconsciously against the firming organ that dug in between his bottom. Jacques gasped and froze in his movements as Logan had pressed flush against him.

"Stop strugglin or the bonds get tighter, and I'll spread ya out like a frog on it's back." Logan growled between teeth as Jacques had started trying to move away from Logan while resuming his fight for freedom of the ropes. He finally managed to overwhelm Jacques and turn him onto his side, facing the left wall. He held him there by sitting on his legs and one big hand around the two slender wrists. "Now, seein as you want to play rough, I'm an expert at doin just that.

Jacques didn't look at him. Instead he fumed and stared at the canvas wall in front of him. He didn't struggle again until Logan moved to unbind the knot at his neck before rolling him onto his back and pulling his hands above his head to tied the other end to the bar. When Logan removed himself from atop him, and moved away to get more rope, Jacques kicked his right leg at him as he turned back.

Calmly, Logan caught his ankle and only managed to tie that one to the cot pole, first. He was being kicked and pushed with the left foot as Jacques started screaming to be released. Grabbing hold of that one, Logan tied the left ankle to the other side of the cot and stood back to admire his work. "Now, try to get out of the that one. If you ask me, that's a compromisin position you don't need Grant, in here, seein."

Jacques halted immediately from struggling. His shirt had been twisted and pulled up so that it no longer covered his weeping erection but stopped only short of his hips. He stared at Logan with a look that demanded not to be touched again. As he looked down, his face flushed to a pale white as he realised just how open he was to Logan. A groan of embarrassment escaped him but, didn't cause him to look away from Logan as he caught the man's stare. "Dis how he teaches you to take care of a prisioner?" He asked letting his anger seep out slowly.

"Nope, just how I like doin things. When the uniform comes off, yer left with just the person." He smiled to himself. "Call it a 'painless torture.' But, if you behave like a good slave should, I'll let you put on yer pants."

Jacques glared at him. The brown of his eyes glittering in the lamplight that hung from the top of the pole in the middle of the room. "I am not your slave." The words were cold and hard like long frozen glaciers. Jacques himself seemed to loathe the term that Logan measured him to but at the same time, he was slightly turned on to be the man's posession.

Placing his left foot on the side of the cot and leaning on it, Logan continued as if he hadn't heard the retort. "How many do ya own?" Laying his right arm across his thigh and pretending to be interested. "If you can't count any higher than ...... oh, say..... 2, it's ok. You could name them, if you knew their names."

"Don't you dare be amused at me." It was said perfectly plainly through closed teeth, though something in his voice was beginning to wear down the anger. He was getting tired of being tied up and restless from lying on a cot for over an hour.

Logan was quiet for a moment and only took calm breaths as his eyes traveled over Jacques' long and slender body. He debated to himself on reaching over to cover the other man's manhood as a humanly gesture but, found the object of his eye, staring rather uncomfortably at him. Clearing the thought from his mind, he stepped back and turned away, thinking. "So, why do you think you need to own someone else? What rewards do you get, other than a power-kick? Does yer food taste like gold? Do birds perch on yer window and play 'Dixieland' for ya? What?" He knew he was treading on a long history of shakey subjects with stone shoes but he felt he had to know.

Jacques didn't answer him at all. He stared very quietly at the canvas until he felt Logan sit down on the cot beside him and lean over him, waiting for the answer. Moving only his eyes to look at the man, he gave a tired sigh and shut his eyes before he spoke. "We own nineteen, an' I can name dem for you. De errand boy, in my unit, is from my family's plantation." He paused as if he had a horrible taste in his mouth. "I have had my fill of two servant girls, in de house. Heard deir cryin in my ears as I filled dem with my seed. One is still pregnant with my child while de other fled to de North." Looking back at the canvas, Jacques couldn't bare to tell Logan the rest of his daily life in Louisiana.

A heavy sigh that hinted disgust came from Logan.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Remy sat up with a start, panting heavily and looking around his pre-dawn bedroom. His soft auburn hair had been matted to his forehead from sweat. He couldn't believe what the dream he had told him about his own family. Mouth open, eyes looking around the room for an unknown thing or person, breath still panting as if he'd been running a mile in a wetsuit, Remy quieted as his eyes landed on the darkened painting of Logan at the foot of his bed.

The clock beside him read 6 in the morning, and way too early for a Saturday rise.

His heart pounded in his chest as he lay back down and stared at the ceiling. Giving a sigh, he rolled onto his right side and closed his eyes, easily falling back asleep.

A soft hum as he lulled himself back to sleep, keeping the image of Logan sitting on the side of the cot, still visible in his mind. The coolness of the sheet made him shiver as he pulled it up to his chest, letting it cover his bare top.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Logan stood.

He had been silent for a long while and wouldn't bring himself to look at the young Captain on his cot. Dipping his head and shaking it in slow disbelief, he spoke calmly. "Is that how you get off? You couldn't go out and get yerself a nice girl to love, you have to force a servant to fuck you?" He snarled slightly in full disgust. "Let me guess, it's a stature thing, right? Yer too poor to go out and buy more so you rape 'em in yer bed, and nine months later, you get one or two more. Scum just goes to the deepest part of you, doesn't it?"

Jacques had clearly had enough. He refused anything else but to demand release. "You wouldn't understand our way of life. If you ain't gonna hand me over to Grant, den let me go! Pretty pathetic soldier, usin words to bore your enemies to death 'stead of just right off killin dem!" A metal sound silenced his rude protests as Logan once again showed his true weapons, this time at a closer viewpoint.

"Like I said, I kill if I see fit." He held onto Jacques' shirt collar and let his clawtips rest just above Jacques' face. "You like comin into cryin girls that struggle, huh? Or do you get yer kicks with them tied up? 'Cuz .... uh..... you ain't far off from that position." He looked down at Jacques' uncovered and rapidly growing erection and half smiled. Pulling five of six claws back in, he left the left claw on the right hand out and moved it slowly towards the naked manhood. "Or, I could make sure you won't do that to another human bein' again."

Jacques' eyes became the size of saucers. "No!" He tried to twist himself so that his left thigh would cover his manhood but the bonds were too tight.

Smirking at the reaction, Logan wrapped his hand around the hard appendage and waited, claw still protruding from his hand. "You like having someone squirm at your hands? How do you like squirmin at mine?" Slowly, he leaned over and licked the tip of the erection, smiling fully as he heard a loud gasp from the man beneath.

"Stop that." Jacques hissed, not willing to admit his turn on.

Logan looked up at him. "Yer body is tellin me a different story." Eventhough he wanted to continue, Logan sat back and removed his hand from Jacques' body, letting the single claw slowly slip back into it's sheath. "Let me guess, it's that warm, July chill that's gettin you all hot and bothered, right?" He smiled.

Jacques didn't answer but wasted no time in spatting at him.

Casually, Logan wiped his face with his right hand before smacking Jacques with the back of his left hand, hard across the left cheek. "So, I was right. Wasn't I? You can't get it up unless someone is forced, correct? You must have to lock your wives in a broom closet when you go away."

"Not married." Jacques snapped but didn't look at him.

Logan grinned. "Not yet, huh?"

No answer.

"Bet you got a little woman, right?"

"My Poppa has a woman for me, in Nawlins." Jacques clarified. He shifted slightly, on the cot, and groaned in discomfort. "Ya mind if I go to de bathroom? Last cup o' coffee workin."

Logan thought for a moment. He looked around and found a small, empty coffee can, sitting on the ground beside his overstuffed pack. Picking it up and sitting it beside Jacques, he smiled answered. "Sure, go right ahead."

A disgusted sigh and an angry pout as Jacques looked away. "F'rget it. I'll go on yer bed and you can clean it up, non?" He hadn't been looking at Logan until he felt the ropes being untied at his ankles. The ropes at his wrists were only loosened at the connection to the cot, and brought up, over Logan's shoulders as he was helped up and out of the tent.

They stood behind a tree, fifteen steps from the tent and leaned against it. The night was so dark compared to being inside the tent. With the moon as the only light, and the sound of distant canon fire, they became two shadows in the woods.

Jacques held up his wrists to Logan as the older man lit a cigar.

Shaking out the match, Logan shook his head. "Yer hands ain't on backwards." He took another puff and then held it in his teeth while turning Jacques around and casually snaking his arm around the thin waist, holding the Captain's manhood.

Jacques gasped and reached out to grab hold of the treebark, in front of him. Never had another man taken such ease in touching him like that. It was not rough, or choking, but almost as if he were doing it himself. He gasped again as Logan pressed himself against him. "You Canadians like de feel of young men, hehn?" He smirked as he couldn't hold the coffee in any longer, and went as if he were alone.

"Nope. Used ta take care of my dad after his stroke, a couple of years ago."

Jacques was silent for a moment. Something had touched him about Logan. He wasn't a vicious monster like Jacques had originally thought. "Done." He said, and turned around, looping his arms around Logan's neck, again. "Den why did you do dat, in de tent?" Looking into the man's eyes as he waited for an answer.

"Do what in the tent?" A serious tone struck Logan's voice as he stared coolly back.

Jacques stammered. "De thing dat you.... when I was..... you know!" He demanded.

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Fatigue gettin to ya, kid?" Gently pulling the arms back over his head and turning the young man around, he nudged him back towards the tent. "Come on, let's get ya outta the moonlight 'fore yer brain explodes." Managing to get back inside the tent, he was shocked as Jacques stopped and spun back around, pressing their lips together.

It was a kiss like the kind a man would give a woman. Soft, caressing, and sensual as it lasted well over a minute. Jacques pressed himself against Logan and teased him as he had been teased. He could hear moans and soft mewls as the kiss continued. He was now fully erect and pressing hard against Logan's leg.

Grabbing Jacques' hips, Logan gently pushed the slender body away from him, lips and all. "I'm gonna start wonderin what they're teachin you in the south."

"What deir teachin me?" Jacques pouted, angrily. "How we live has nothin to do wit' dis! You're de one dat started dis! An' after dis tussle wit' de North, you can go to Hell!" Removing his arms from around Logan's neck, he gave a wry attempt at pushing the man aside so that he could leave.

Logan grabbed him by the arms and held him as he struggled. "Listen to me, you little bitch! I could care less what goes on in your country. But, I've been following the war and have read the Bible all the way through, twice! Nowhere does it say that one person is better than the other because of their skin colour! Nowhere does it say you can rape a servant girl and it'll mean high stature! That doesn't make you better than anyone. That just makes you a sadistic asshole. And nowhere does it say you can behave like an ass when you don't get what you want! Don't blame the North for something you have just as much fault in. You all behave like spoiled children when nothing goes your way. So, to Hell with me? To Hell with you!" His temper flared one last time as he pushed Jacques back down on the cot and stared at him.

Tears welled up in Jacques' eyes that were wide with fear as the tone in Logan's voice hit him. Looking towards the canvas, to avoid letting the enemy see the weakness, Jacques was released and rolled away. Covering his face with his right hand, Jacques curled into a ball on his right side and sobbed quietly, wishing he were somewhere else.

~~~~~~~~~~

Remy lay in the same pose as Jacques had, in his dream. Tears dampened the spot on the pillow where his head lay. Opening his eyes and taking a ragged, deep breath, he half expected to see the wall of Logan's tent. Instead, he saw only the sun peak through the curtains to his lonely bedroom.

Sighing again, he rolled onto his back and turned his head to face the alarm clock to his left. Nine-thirty that had just turned from Nine-twenty-nine. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment before finally sitting up and staring at the painting. Shaking his head, he decided to get up and go down to the cafe for a cup of coffee and breakfast.

Getting himself dressed and ready, out of the house with Jacques' journal in hand, and down to the cafe that was right around the corner from his house, Remy was ready for a change in scenery. He sat down to the left of the door, and about 2 booths away, facing the entrance and looked over the menu.


	5. Chapter 5

Remy froze in mid-step and stared straight ahead at the door. He heard the crinkling of the newspaper as it was lowered from the man's face and the page turned. Shaking his head and telling himself that it must have been the journal getting to him, he took another step and reached the handle on the door. Sighing and glancing at the book in his right hand, he nudged the door open with his left and walked outside.

"Must be tired." He told himself. The ground had been darkened from the early morning rain, and he stepped over a few small puddles on the way to end of the filled parking lot. It was a cool morning, and he had worn a tan windbreaker jacket overtop of a faded blue, long-sleeved shirt with an LSU logo. His blue jeans had been a bit loose and made him shiver as the cooled material touched his warmed leg with each step. The white of his tennis shoes reflected the sun that had peeked out through the swirl of gray and white clouds that hung low in the sky.

The door to the cafe opened, behind him, and the same voice called out the name again. "Jacques! Wait!"

He had been halfway through the parking lot and stopped in the middle of the lane. His breath caught and he dared not turn around. Taking deep, slow breaths, and clearing his throat, Remy waited for the person to catch up to him.

"Captain Jacques LeBeau, under General Pemberton?" The man stopped a few paces behind Remy.

Remy gulped a breath of air and turned around to see the man who had sat on the other side of the door, reading the paper. "Non, m'sieur. Jacques was my gran'pa. My name is Remy. Remy LeBeau." He smiled and held out his hand, not at all realising that the person who now was shaking his hand, was the very object of the painting in his bedroom.

His black hair had been combed neatly but the sides tended to stick out on their own, making him look slightly cartoonish. Brown eyes gleamed in the sunlight and seemed to be looking past Remy, as if remembering something or someone from the past. He was shorter than Remy but only by a few inches. The clothes he wore looked comfortable but also a bit chilly. Faded blue jeans, broken in brown boots and a black button up shirt with long sleeves, he had actually looked like he belonged to this century.

"Was?" The man looked confused. "Uh, Logan. Logan Howlett." Releasing Remy's hand and taking a step back to get a second look at the man before him, Logan tilted his head in question. "Yer grandad was Jacques? So he did go through with the marriage thing?" The two questions were more of an outloud mental note but, Remy had heard and nodded his head. "But, you look...... just like him. 'Cept fer the eyes."

This time Remy was confused. "How did you.....? If you're de man in de paintin, well.... Poppa said you died a long time ago." He absently reached out his hand and touched Logan's left arm, as if making sure he wasn't dreaming or halucinating.

"Uhh, yea. I did. But, it's a really long story about me." Shaking his head and changing the subject, quickly. "I see you've found his journal." He nodded to the small brown book in Remy's hand. "Still a good read as when he was writin it?"

Remy looked down at the book and sheepishly placed it behind his back. "It was in de trunk dat Poppa brought to my house. Dere was some stuff of yours in dere, too."

"I bet." Logan half smiled. "Look, I was just in town for some business calls." He shifted his weight to his left foot and reached into his back pocket to pull out a thick, worn, black billfold and pulled out a card, hidden in one of the pockets. "That's my cell phone, for my business. It's at the hotel, now. But, if you feel like talkin about......" He paused for a sigh. "Give me a call, day or night."

Taking the card and nodding as he looked it over, Remy looked up and smiled at him. "Merci. I have to get to de office, too. T'anks again." He shook the man's hand again as they both turned away from each other and went on their ways. Remy stared at the card as he walked the whole way home.

 

Logan Howlett  
Historic Artifact Restoration  
Art - Painting - Caligraphy  
Offices in London - New York - British Columbia - New Orleans  
(504)555.6982

 

"So he is alive. Dat really was him. But, how?" He stopped at his front door but didn't move to unlock it. "Does Poppa know? Did Jacques know before he died?" Tucking the card into his back pocket, he took out the keys from his left jacket pocket and unlocked the door.

Taking off his jacket and laying it over the back of the sofa and placing the journal on top of it, in the livingroom, he leaned over the lid of the trunk as a scratch caught his eye. Remy knelt down to examine it closer and ran his fingers of his right hand over top of it. I will be with you, Logan. Giving a short laugh to himself, he opened the lid and said aloud. "Hundred year old graffiti."

Rifling through the remaining contents, he came across a single, trifold page that appeared to be the second page of a two page letter. Rubbing the corner between two fingers, thinking it might have been stuck together, Remy began taking everything out of the trunk to find the rest of the letter. Nothing. He sat down in the small space he had given himself and read the letter, hoping it would give some new light.

The winter is almost gone, Logan, and the Spring brings  
my marriage to Mary. She is a beautiful girl, and only five  
years my junior. I tremble as I say I love her too. But,  
my heart belongs to another. You, my dear Logan.

I will keep writing to you, and have given orders to  
the house maid to hand me your letters as they  
arrive. I have received only a few, and keep them  
safe in the bindings of my journal.

Jacques

Remy read and reread the two small paragraphs on the page. Finally standing up, he reached for the journal and opened the covers of it, feeling the lining of each cover. There was a small bulge underneath the lining in the back, and Remy hurried into the kitchen for a knife to slice a slit in the paper. "Sneaky, gran'pa." Carefully opening the hole, he tipped the book upside down and shook it, letting several folded papers slip out and onto the countertop.

Sure enough, out spilled a bundle of letters from Logan, some still in their original envelopes. "A-lors....!" He whispered in surprise. Opening in one envelope, he slipped the letter with the same trifold out and looked over the handwriting before he read it.

May 12, 1865

Jacques,

The colt is almost grown and prances around  
the pen like he is full grown. He hurt his leg  
last week in the storm but, is doing fine now.  
A couple more weeks and I am selling him to  
the old couple down the way from me. Winter  
is here and they need all the help they can  
get.

I am having something sent to you. It is a  
large package and I want to be sure you are  
able to keep it safe. I have had a portrait of  
myself done so, unwrap it alone. This is my  
last letter for awhile.

Grant has written me to come back and  
see things over in Louisiana. I understand  
President Lincoln was killed last month.  
I am ready for anything that comes my  
way. My station will be in Port Arthur  
but, I will be in New Orleans for a few  
days rest. I hope to see you.

I will see you when I get there and you  
can tell me how you like the protrait.

Logan

Remy pulled the card out of his back pocket and stared at the number. Not taking his eyes off of the number, he walked to the phone, that hung on the wall by the entrance way to the dining room, opposite the front door. It was an early 90s rotary phone, peach in colour, and corded, the kind Remy liked as not to lose it. He picked up the receiver and dialed the phone number.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Logan...uh... Monsieur Howlett?" Remy stuttered a bit as he hadn't thought Logan would answer. "Dis is Remy LeBeau; Jacques' grandson. Am I disturbin you?"

Logan cleared his throat as he answered. "No. I was actually hopin you'd call. Somethin I can do for ya?"

Exhaling a breath, Remy closed his eyes and let his mouth lead. "I just found yer letters dat Jacques kept. Ya mind havin dinner wit' me? Can show you what was in his trunk....?"

Taking a long moment to answer, Logan walked around his medium sized, plush hotel room and let the time sink in. "The last time I tried to meet up with a LeBeau, I was lynched by Confederate sympathisers. That was 140 years ago but, sorry if I hesitate. Did he keep the paintin?" He had been wearing a towel and had just gotten out of the shower and took a moment to assess himself.

"Oui." Remy turned around and paused. "Yes. He kept ev'thin of yours. Poppa say his room has been collectin dust for 60 years. I found your paintin in my attic, an' I don't remember puttin it dere. Poppa don' wanna know not'in about it but, I only know what my gran told me 'bout him. He looked like me, Logan. Dat's why you t'ought I was him, oui? De kids are wit' my poppa so, jus' me here."

Logan nodded as he listened. "Alright. What time?"

"Round 6's fine. De house is a mess from all de stuff so, it'd take me dat long to clean it up." Remy smiled and gave him directions to the house. He thanked Logan for agreeing to speak to him about Jacques, and hung up to hurry and clean before starting dinner. He quickly and carefully put everything back into the trunk before bringing the picture downstairs, instead of having Logan look at it in his bedroom, thinking that would be too suggestive.

~~~~~~~~~

Logan knocked on the door promptly at six. He was unsure of how to approach Remy about the questions he had concerning Jacques, as he was sure Remy had the same problem. He checked his watch, hoping he hadn't been stood up, and breathed a sigh of relief as he heard footsteps approaching the door. Tucking his hands into his jacket pockets, he waited.

The door opened and Remy welcomed him with a warm smile as he stepped aside to invite him in. "Desole. Was checkin on dinner. Been dere long?" Shutting the door behind him, Remy turned to catch a glimpse of Logan curiously looking around, possibly half expecting to see Jacques pop out from behind a chair or a wall.

Turning sharply, Logan took a moment look at Remy before he answered. "No, actually, I just got here. Took ya a couple seconds to answer after I knocked." His breath caught as Remy smiled and nodded again, offering to take his jacket. Taking off and handing Remy the jacket, he held onto it as he calmly told him his thought. "You look too much like him. Same smile, same hairstyle, different eyes, though. You sure yer not Jacques?" He smiled warmly.

Remy smiled back. "I'm sure, m'sieur." He hung the jacket up on a hook, next to the door and showed his guest into the diningroom. "I t'ought we'd eat first, den take a look."

They sat across from each other at the small square table and talked about themselves to each other. Between a bottle of wine and only slightly spicy jambalaya, Remy had come to learn a lot about the man his grandfather had fallen in love with. "Ya married?" He asked almost sheepishly.

"Nope. Never did." Scooping up another bite onto his fork, Logan asked. "You said you had kids...? Will the missus be joinin us?"

Remy set his fork down and finished his bite before answering. "Not anymore." He sighed. "I- uh- caught her in bed wit' someone from work. Now, dey're in California."

Logan flushed at the answer. "I'm sorry."

"It's ok. Been fallin apart for awhile." Remy shrugged. "My two monsters keep me afloat." Nodding to the wall, behind Logan, where a framed class picture hung from each child. "Alex is 9, an' Roberta is 7. Dey're good kids. Mostly." He smiled at the personal joke and watched as Logan turned around to look at each child.

"Cute kids. Bet they're a handful." He smiled and started to turn back around when his eye caught a picture on the adjacent wall of Jean-Luc. "That yer dad?" He waited for Remy to answer.

Remy finished his bite and set down his fork as he had finished his meal. "Oui. Dat's Jacques' boy. My Poppa. His name's Jean-Luc."

"Must look more like Mary but, I can see Jacques in him." Logan turned around and finished his last remaining bite of food before laying his fork down.

Standing up with his plate in hand, Remy came around to take Logan's plate and set them in the sink. "I found a picture of Jacques, in de trunk, too. Poppa told me once dat he an' I looked alike but never believed it, til I saw de picture." He spoke as he walked through the doorway to the left, and into the kitchen to put the plates in the sink. When he came back, Logan was standing up and staring at the picture of Jean-Luc, more closely.

"Got his mother's face but his dad's eyes and mouth." Logan summarised. "Quite the boy, you got, Jacques." He had said it more outloud to himself than Remy but hadn't realised Remy was standing beside him. Turning to look at Remy, he had to remind himself that it wasn't Jacques that stood beside him.

Remy led the way into the livingroom, where the trunk sat. He had turned the sofa around for them to sit on, instead of the floor. He had closed the lid to the trunk but hadn't locked it, and placed both uniform jackets on the lid. They were neatly folded and laying side by side with only a few inches between them.

Logan sat down on the left side while Remy took the right, and picked up his old Union jacket. "Yep. I knew he sifted one of my jackets."

"Dere's another one in dere but, covered wit' blood." Remy offered as he picked up Jacques' jacket and laid it on the cushion between them. He kept a careful eye on Logan as he lift the lid and sat back.

Making no attempt to find the other Union jacket, he only nodded and leaned forward to peer inside the trunk. "I had it on when I was attacked. When I woke up and crawled out from under the dirt, it was gone. Everyone was gone. I saw him before he died but, I more or less spooked him and his family dragged him to the funny farm. So, I stayed away. He was a good strong man but, I'm guessin the errand boy got back before I got there and told him the news."

"I'm sorry."

Logan looked at his lap and shook his head. "Don't be. He had his chance at life. A wife, kid,....." He looked up at Remy and smiled. "grandkid. I wasn't the kind to settle down with a kid of the Confederacy. Back then, it wasn't somethin the public needed to see, or know."

Picking up the picture of Jacques, that laid atop of a stack of papers, on the right hand side of the trunk, Remy stared at it. "What was he like, back den?" He blushed as he told Logan about the dreams he had after reading the journal. "My mind tends to wander like dat, sometimes."

Logan thought back to that night in his tent. "Shells were blowin from all directions, and gunfire was a constant sound. Most o' the people we killed were just young kids, barely 18. I was one of several lookouts spread out all around the camp, lookin for any Confederates. I never did like sittin still, so I decided to scout outwards a ways, and came across a post. Jacques was sittin at a table, writin in that book, while the kid with him was standin guard. A few minutes later, he stood up and told the kid he was goin out to see what the noise they heard, was." He smiled to himself as he knew what the noise had been. "Good fighter. Very strong and stubbourn when it came to differences of ideals. And, also..." He reached up a stroke Remy's left cheek with his right thumb. "very soft, and sweet." Slowly, he leaned over and gently kissed Remy's lips before remembering where he was.

Remy tensed and stiffened at the other man's closeness. He had wondered what it had been like to feel Logan's kiss but, hadn't expected Logan to take the initiative. "What really happened in de tent?" He asked as Logan had backed away and stood up to walk to the fireplace and stare at his painting on the step. Not turning around, his left hand absently reached up to touch the spot where Logan's lips had been.

A heavy sigh as Logan stared at the painting. "We fought for a bit. He was hell bent on the South winnin and continuin their way of life. I tied him up and told him that since he liked the idea of slavery, he was my slave. We 'talked' a bit more about the subject and then....." His voice trailed off as he seemed to relive, in his mind alone, the rest of the events.

Eyes opeinging wide, Remy had a feeling that his dream was more than a dream, but a memory. He hadn't said what he wanted to say, only sat in silence until Logan offered more.

"The next mornin was supposed to be the last time I saw him but, then there was Fort Sumter, Chattanooga, Devil's Backbone, and Charleston Harbor. Each giving the other chance to escape before commanders collected us. We kept it quiet and away from the groups." Logan turned around and caught a glance at Remy as he hadn't moved from his position. Looking about the room, he thought it best if he called it a night and let everything sink in for Remy. "Well, I think I'd better goin. I'd like to get back to the hotel before it starts rainin."

Remy stood up as if suddenly coming to life. He had opened his mouth to say something at the same time a burst of lightning and a roll of thunder drowned him out. He waited until it was over before he started again. "I t'ink ya better stay here. Ya only get wet, waitin fer de cab." He looked to the window as another burst of light illuminated the curtains.

Logan sighed, swallowed, and nodded as he went to reclaim his seat on the sofa, beside Remy.

 

Continued.......


	6. Chapter 6

"Dere's a guest room around de corner. Mainly my home office wit' a bed but, s' not completely an office. Bathroom's across de hall but, s' only a washroom. Shower's upstairs." He talked as he led Logan out of the livingroom and around the corner to the right, behind the stairs.

The room straight ahead and the washroom on the left, he gave Logan a quick tour of the downstairs before taking him upstairs to show him where the shower was. So far, Logan had remained quiet and courteous through the small tour, and found himself watching Remy's every move and listening to him closely. He smiled as they passed the children's rooms and laughed to himself at the toy-strewn, shiny white tiled small guest bathroom. But, he fell silent when Remy showed him his room.

Remy waved a hand at his open door. "Dat's my room. Just' knock if ya need anyt'in."

Logan nodded. "Thank you. Prolly grab a shower in the mornin. Flight leaves tomorrow evenin."

"Goin back ta Canada?"

"No, not directly. Got some work to show off in New York, first. Then, goin home." Leaning against the doorframe to Remy's bedroom, he folded his arms and stared at Remy as he stood fully into the bedroom. Checking his watch on the inside of his left wrist, he sighed and looked back up at Remy.

Remy looked at the clock by the bed. Eight o' clock. "Still early. Want some coffee, or are ya tired?"

He could do with some coffee but, he wasn't tired at all. Not with a Cajun that resembled a former flame, standing in the middle of his bedroom with a thunder and lightning storm raging outside. The last thing Logan had thought about was sleep. "What uh- what is it you do?"

"Architect." Remy smiled. "Had dis house built when my ex an' I were married. Den she left, an' traded ev'thin for someone younger. Alex, my boy, took all de pictures of her down, and put dem somewhere. Bobbie won't even bring her up."

"Kids always have it the hardest with that sort of family thing."

Nodding, Remy bit his lower lip and cleared his throat. "Do you need anythin before bed?" He asked in a shakey tone, changing the subject quickly.

Logan took a minute to think. He knew what he needed and why, but the problem was, how to ask without scaring Remy. "You don't have pets, do you? I'm not gonna be attacked by 'Fluffy' in the middle of the night, am I?"

Remy laughed lowly. "Non. No pets." A clap of thunder interrupted them and they both looked up at the ceiling as if silently scolding it for ruining the moment. Remy looked back at Logan to see the man carefully looking at him. "Dere's a TV in de livin'room, or a small portable in de closet, on de shelf. Sorry, I'm a bit tired, tonight."

"Yea, I should prolly hit the hay, too." Logan nodded. "We can talk more in the mornin." Pushing himself off of the doorframe, he smiled and turned to go back downstairs. "Night.... Remy." Making sure he got the name right, he stopped to look back to see Remy nod and say goodnight back. He smiled to himself as he slowly went back down the stairs and into the bedroom.

~~~~~~~~~~

Logan laid down on the firm bed. It was a firm, pillow-topped mattress with clean white linen and a lightweight but fluffy comforter. His clothes were draped neatly over the side of the bed, at the end, so he lay there in only his cotton boxers. Laying on his back, he stared up at the darkened white ceiling and thought to himself.

"You got a good lookin family, kid. That boy 'o yer's is a close ringer but, yer grandkid is dead on. Just wish I coulda beat that kid back to you and told ya myself I wasn't dead. But, at least you had that family you kept yappin about. I'm glad you did. He's real nice, this Remy. Is this the second chance with you I've been waitin for?" Staring at the ceiling as if seeing Jacques staring down at him, he spoke quietly. He sighed and closed his eyes to try to sleep.

His dreams were tainted with images of Jacques, a prisoner on his cot. He pictured his face, so soft and young. The smoothe body of the frail Captain, bound to the rails of the cot as he stared up at Logan. The words he harshly spat at his captor seemed to be said in slow motion.

Rolling onto his right side, his images of Jacques took a turn as well. He began seeing Jacques sitting around the fireplace in the den of his father's house, having tea and brandy while talking to his family and friends. The young Captain told the group of 7 about his adventures in the war before a young, ebony boy of 9 stood in the doorway and waved him away from them.

((Jacques set down his brandy glass and cleared the smile from his face as he stood up. Walking over to the boy, he pointed to the kitchen and followed the child through the door. Telling the servants to busy themselves elsewhere, he spun the boy around to talk to him. "What news from him?"

The boy shook uncontrollably. "Brung a package for you, sur. It's from dat man you tol' me ta meet." He stared up but didn't meet Jacques' eyes. instead, he stared at the pale blue shirt buttons and waited for Jacques to approve of him fetching it.

"Well, where is it?" Jacques' brow furrowed and he spoke impatiently.

The boy nodded and curtly excused himself to run to the cellar to retrieve the small package wrapped in brown paper and tied with a white string. When he returned, he held the package up for Jacques and uneasily took a step back as it was taken from him. "Was dirty when I wrap it up, sur. Di'n have time ta warsh it 'cuz I was runnin back here. Tooked it from de man's bag. Don' reckon he need it no more, sur." He spoke, and his shakes filtered into his speech.

"Merci. Excused." Jacques stared at the package and hadn't noticed the boy leave the room and a beautiful young housemaid enter the room. Turning around as he was aware of someone else in the room with him, he stared at her. "Tell poppa dat I'm not feelin well an' I'm goin to lay down."

She nodded and asked softly. "Shall I warm your bed, sur?" Smiling sweetly and hoping he said no, she calmly awaited his answer before sending her off to tell Master LeBeau of his son's sudden health.

"Non. Go." Jacques refocused on the package in his hands as he left the kitchen and made his way up the stairs to his room. Closing the door and placing the package on the end of his bed, Jacques hesitated before opening it. Pacing back and forth, he bit his right thumbnail and glanced, every other second, at the brown paper package.

A knock on his door and a stern, gentleman's voice called to him. Quickly, he slipped the parcel under his bed and hurriedly started unfastening his shirt buttons. "Oui, poppa." He called as he sat down on the side of his bed.

The door opened and a tall, distinguished southern gentleman entered the room. He was an image of Jacques, aged and with a cleanly trimmed beard and mustache that lined his thin face. "Not feeling well, Jacques? Perhaps something you ate? Is it the war, son?" He watched Jacques remove his shirt and draped it over the end of the bed before tending to his boots.

"Non, poppa. Just tired s' all. De food was fine." He smiled casually up at his father, who stood in the doorway. Placing his boots beside the bed, and glancing at his reflection in the vanity mirror atop his white 3 drawer dresser that sat to the right of the bed, Jacques took a breath. He lay down, on his back, and closed his eyes.

His father stood there a minute before coming closer. "I'll send Apple up with some soup, later. If you feel up to it. Are you sure you're alright, Jacques?" His controlled accent gave subtle hints of the finest schools his family was charitable to, and his demeanour was simply superb.

Jacques nodded but didn't open his eyes. "Just tired, poppa. Be fine after a while."

Bending over his son, he felt Jacques' forehead and cheeks before lightly patting Jacques' chest. "Okay. Rest well, mon fils." He whispered and quietly left the room, closing the door silently behind him. He had always been a doting father to his two children but since Jacques came home from the war, he given more time to Jacques than his sister of late.

Tossing and turning, Jacques' mind focused on what was in the package and what the boy had meant by Logan not needing them anymore. A heavy, annoyed sigh escaped as Jacques finally sat up and stared at the end of his bed. It had been a soft item in the paper but Jacques wondered what, exactly. Crawling to the end of his bed and sitting there on his knees, he leaned over and reached for the package, underneath.

Grabbing the strings and lifting it up onto the bed, Jacques chewed his bottom lip and stared at it. Pulling on a string's end, he let it unravel and slid the string off of the package. Sitting back, he hesitated a moment and reached a shakey hand towards the paper. Opening the package, he looked inside and found a neatly folded, dirty and red tinged Union shell jacket. "What's this?" He asked in a slow whisper. Lifting the jacket out of the paper and examining the red stains on the collar and both lapels, Jacques began to pant nervously, fearing the worst.

The red had long been dry and only invaded the material's usual colour in a thin line on the collar, and dark spatters on the lapels. "Non! Non, Logan...??!" His voice refused to speak above a whisper, and he felt sick when he tried. "Don' tell me you're dead, Logan. No."

A knock at the door startled him.

"Master Jacques, sur. I bring you some soup." A feminine muffled voice spoke behind the door.

Jacques cleared his throat and shoved the jacket hurriedly back into the paper and shoved it under his bed. "Come." He said, almost giving away the tears that fell onto his bare chest. He sat back and waited for the woman to enter with the tray of soup.

A young, ebony woman pushed the door open while balancing a small silver tray in her left hand. She was thin but barely healthy, and her long black hair had been pulled back into a tight, low bun. A black dress with white apron seemed to oversize her by two sizes. "Are you feeling better, sur?" She asked in a squeaky voice but forced a smile as she spoke. She was frightened of him but was able to relax a bit as he hadn't been as cruel as before the war.

Jacques had changed.

Looking up at her, he smiled shortly. "Hm? Yes. Feelin better, Apple. Merci." He nodded twice before bowing his head and thinking about the jacket under the bed.

"Would you like me to run yo'r bath for you, m'sieur?" Placing the tray on the dresser, she turned and studied him. Something was wrong and she couldn't quite place it.

Jacques only shook his head, instead of answering her.

Apple's brow furrowed but she didn't ask. Courtesying quickly,she turned to leave him alone when she was stopped by her name being spoke calmly, almost sadly. Turning back around, she contained the shock of seeing him near tears.

"Close de door, come sit on de bed." Quiet and collected, Jacques watched as she obeyed. Turning to watch her sit to his right, he took a deep breath and held it before slowly releasing it and clearing his head of the static that screamed at him. "Do you like it here, in dis house?" He watched her reaction to his question and carefully weighed her answer.

She nodded. "Yes, sur."

"Your chile is well cared for, yes?" Keeping eye contact with her, he inched slowly forward.

Another nod. "Yes." She sat ladylike with her hands in her lap and her head down but up enough to look at his face.

A corner of his mouth turned up in a smile as he hooked a finger under her chin. "You love him very much, no?" Leaning forward slowly and whispering as his lips came within inches of hers. "But, you want to be in de Nort' with him?"

She nodded and froze as her eyes grew wide, waiting on his next move.

Jacques closed the distance and caressed her lips with his, easing them apart and massaged her tongue with his. Changing positions, he reached up to unfasten the bun at the nape of her neck and let her coarse but soft hair run through his fingers. He held the back of her head gently and eased her to lie down on the bed before moving to push up the skirt of her dress. Holding himself up with one hand while the other uncovered her womanhood, he watched her carefully.

He was gentle in his movements and slow as he cautiously leaned over to kiss her again while unfastening and removing his slacks. Backing away from her, Jacques removed himself from the bed completely and posed her so that she was fully laying on the bed. Removing his clothes and letting them drop onto the wood floor, he slowly eased himself back onto the bed. "Ya love me, Apple?" The question was more than halfhearted but meant less than complete love for her.

Apple nodded and watched him like a scared rabbit.

Jacques crawled up from the end of his bed and positioned himself between her thin, long legs. "Won' hurt you, mon cherie." Leaning over her to stare straight down into her eyes, he entered her slowly and watched her expression change from calm to shock to hopeless panic. He silenced her cries of pain with a long, deep kiss that took her mind off of what he was doing.

When the kiss broke, Jacques' pace quickened but not harshly. He could feel her wrap her arms around him as his movement inside her became quick and pained. He faced the pillow over her left shoulder and continued with his eyes closed. Grunting loudly in her ear, he squeezed his eyes shut and curled his fingers into his quilt. Nearing completion, Jacques whispered the name that halted him in mid orgasm.

"Logan."

Apple gasped loudly at the feel of force behind his orgasm, as well as her own. Her grip around him became tighter as he relaxed into her arms and removed himself from her. She panted and turned away from him, retreating her arms from him. "Dat de man dat make you different, master Jacques?" Since he had returned from the war, he had been more kinder to her and the others in the house.

Panting heavily and staring at the ceiling, Jacques thought about the question. Turning his head to look at her only to stare at her back, he pushed himself up to rest on his right elbow and look over her shoulder. "He was de man dat promised me love." His eyes glistened with tears as he spoke. "But ended up dead, without me."

Curious, she turned back to look up at him and finally see that he was emotionally crushed. "Ya certain?"

He nodded. "Would you stay, here, or go to the North? If I asked you?"

Apple shifted and slowly sat up. "I don't understand, sur."

Jacques sat back and knelt beside her. He wiped away the wetness on his cheeks and looked away for a moment. "In Vicksburg, I was taken prisoner by dis man from the Union. Spent de night wit' him...... as his slave...... an' he made me realise dat slaves are people too. Some things happened dat...." he paused and shifted uneasily. "I don't have the right to ask, but it won't be like before. I promise."

Letting his words sink in, Apple looked up at him and hoped he understood her decision. "We're free?" She watched in disbelief as he nodded solemnly. "Master, sur, my prayers have been answered, ....... and you want me to stay? Iffin I stay, how's it gonna be different? Will looks up to you as a father but, I need to take him somewhere where we can have a life. Dis man, he show you de meanin of a slave so, please understand dat we need to be free. Please?"

Bowing his head in shame, Jacques nodded. "Den, I can't be your master anymore. You're free, now." Jacques raised his head and leaned over slowly to kiss her on the lips. "G'bye, my Apple." He whispered and waved his hand for her to leave as he turned his head away from her.

He felt her slide off of the bed and heard the door being softly pulled to before he slowly slipped off of the bed and knelt on the floor beside the end. Pulling out the package, he reached a shakey hand towards the soft blue jacket. Picking it up and pulling it close to him, the sadness overwhelmed him and his tears began to dampen the dusty material. "No. Logan, please." Whispering into the jacket's left shoulder, he crushed it to him for some feel of the man that used to wear it.

Jacques stood and still clutched the jacket close as he paced the length of his room. He sat down on his bed after several minutes of pacing and crumpled over, into a ball. He was crying freely now and holding a hand over his mouth to force back the loud sobs. Laying there for a moment, Jacques hushed himself of his sobs and dried his eyes.

He lay fully on the bed and draped the jacket overtop of himself, staring up at the ceiling. Placing the jacket as if he were putting it on backward, he smoothed it out with only his right hand outside of the material while his left remained concealed and began to stroke his growing erection. Closing his eyes and holding his right arm against the back of the jacket, Jacques began to whisper to himself. "Logan please, harder." Teeth ground as his left pulled himself harder and held tighter to him. "Deeper, Logan. Need you so bad. Need.... you...." He gasped and bent his knees to place his feet flat on the bed, spreading his legs wider as he continued to masturbate himself into orgasm. "Stay wit' me, please. Come wit' me. Lo....gan.... need.... you... so.... rrrgghh!" Harder and faster until his hips lifted up off of the bed and a hot, sticky spatter of come sprayed the inside of the jacket.

Not opening his eyes until he calmly lowered himself to lie flatly on the bed, he slowly came about his wits and listened to the silence a moment. No one beside him, panting hard and cooing in his ear that they enjoyed it. Nor was there anyone holding him close, except for his right arm that wrapped so tightly around his stomach, he feared he wouldn't be able to let go. Jacques sobbed and inhaled Logan's remaining scent from the blood-stained collar.))

Bolting awake and sitting up in bed as a flash of lightning followed by a roll of thunder echoed throughout the room. Logan panted so hard he thought his heart would jump out of his chest. Reaching a hand up to wipe the sweat from his face, he swallowed and calmed himself before pushing off of the bed and out into the livingroom. He eyed the trunk that sat in the middle of the room and the two different jackets that rest on its lid.

Walking over to it, he stopped in front of his jacket and picked it up to look at it. No blood or semen stains but the medals and ribbons he had achieved were intact. Picking up the Confederate jacket and placing them both on the sofa, behind him, he slowly opened the lid and reached in to carefully fish for the other jacket, at the bottom. It too, had been folded neatly and placed to one side as he pulled it out and examined it carefully. Blood on the collar and lapels were his. Semen on the inside and ........ a new bloodstain overtop of the semen, were not his. "What have you done, Jacques?" He asked in a whisper to no one immediate.

On the next lightning flash, Logan's attention was directed back to the doorway as he caught a shadowy figure standing there, staring at him calmly. He wore a Confederate uniform and stood at ease with his hands behind his back, and watched Logan as he held the soiled jacket. "Jacques?"

~~~~~~~~~~~

Making his way upstairs, Logan quietly walked around to lean against Remy's open door and watch him sleep. He had put his pants back on but not the rest of his clothes.

With his back to Logan, Remy had been lost in his own tale of dreams and mewled softly as he shifted every few minutes. His chest was bare as he slept in only his boxers and a brown cotton sheet. He had tossed the blanket off the end of the bed from getting too hot and now wrapped himself up in the sheet as the air turned on.

He stood there a moment and listened to Remy silently breathe.

Remy looked at peace in his dream until he rolled from his right side to his back, keeping his head towards the window. His arms lay spread to either side so he lay almost in a star pose. His right leg was bent and pinned by the ankle underneath his left knee and twitched slightly every few breaths.

Logan stood there a moment and watched him sleep. Pushing off of the frame, he carefully took a few steps into the room and stopped halfway between the door and the bed. Lightning flashed in front of him, through the window, and made him take his eyes off Remy to glance outside.

Moaning softly in his sleep, Remy was lost in his own dream of something so interesting that he didn't move as a loud thunder clap roared heavily above. His brow furrowed for a few seconds and then eased as a slurred half sentence escaped his lips as he turned his head to face the ceiling. His eyebrows came together in another uncertain part of the dream but didn't ease right away. Another whispered slur that was barely understandable as he sighed. "I die when you go."

Leaning in to try and understand what that meant, Logan tilted his head to the right and knelt down to get eye level with him. Slowly reaching out to brush the fringe from Remy's left temple, he hadn't speculated that Remy would feel his fingers lightly brush against him, and turned his head into the touch.

Remy gave a dreamy sigh but didn't open his eyes as his left cheek rest in Logan's open hand.

He was stuck. If he moved, he'd wake up Remy but if he didn't, he'd risk getting caught when Remy woke of his own accord. Sighing to himself and thinking of how to remove himself without waking his host, Logan became content on watching Remy sleep. Joy consumed him as each lightning strike made Remy's face glow briefly.

It was like a lightswitch someone was turning off and on, quickly. He saw Remy in his bed but with a blink, he saw Jacques asleep on his cot, in his tent, and back again. It lasted several seconds but had Logan convinced he was seeing Jacques in place of Remy. Slowly, he leaned over and lightly brushed his lips against his. Pulling back and licking his lips, it was like tasting Jacques for the first time in his tent.

Logan kissed him once more but as he pulled back again, he was now being stared at by Remy, and not Jacques. He drew his breath in and sat back, waiting for the anger to follow. Amazedly, he was not attacked from any angle except Remy's softly pulsing red eyes. "I- I'm sorry." He whispered calmly. He made no effort to justify his mistake as a war "relapse".

"For what?" Remy blinked.

Logan removed his hand from Remy's cheek and stood up. "I uh- It was a long time ago that we-" He broke his sentence and reached his right hand to nervously scratch at the back of his head.

Remy sat up, trying to stop the other man from leaving without finishing. "Y' saw him, too. Didn' ya?" He stared up at Logan with a desperate look.

Not answering, Logan turned the conversation to something else. "You talked in yer sleep. Said somethin Jacques said to me after the last time we met; 'I die when you go.' That was before we won the war and were shipped back home. You look too much like him, Remy." He sat down on the edge of the bed and stared into Remy's eyes. "Can't be just coincidence."

A cold shiver ran down Remy's back and made him twitch. "What happened b'tween you two? What did you do dat haunted my gran'father? De journal say you made him a slave, how?" Both hands reached up to lay gently on Logan's shoulders. His breath caught as his wrists were caressed by warm hands and lightly squeezed.

Logan sighed deeply and looked away, towards the wall to his right. When he looked back and stared directly into Remy's eyes, he swallowed and answered. "I made love to him." He could see the confusion in Remy's eyes as he explained. "I took a 24 year old, and showed him the meaning of sensuality. I was tryin to get him to realise what it was like to be at someone else's mercy, only it backfired. Everything after that was just casual sex, up until our last meetin at Charleston Harbor." He stopped and thought it best not to continue.

"What happened dere?" He had hung on every word, trying to picture the scenes in his mind of what Logan was telling him.

Logan shook his head. "It happened a long time ago. Doesn't matter anymore." He started to stand up when Remy stopped him and moved forward to kiss him, deeply.

"What if I ask you to show me how ya made him feel?" Letting the words spill out into the open, he caught Logan swallow hard. "What if I ask you to make love to me? Not Jacques, no, but mebbe dat's what he's tryin ta say. Wants me ta pick up where bot' of you left off, non?"

Logan sat back down and saw in Remy's expression that he was clearly telling the truth. "And then what? This leads to a relationship, and yer kids won't know how to handle it. If yer dad don't like talkin about Jacques, how's he gonna take seein me? What's he gonna say when he sees me, and remembers that I'm the one that changed his dad's life because o' what happened in my tent?"

"Shh shhh shh." Remy placed two fingers on Logan's lips to silence him. "We cross dat bridge when we come to it, no?" Removing his fingers and placing his lips on Logan's, Remy boldly kissed him as if they had been lovers for years.

Closing his eyes and leaning into the kiss, Logan eased Remy to lie back on the bed as he began to climb overtop of him. He could feel Remy's hands on his chest, stroking the soft, fuzzy plains before letting them move to press against his erection. He paused as Remy began to unfasten the pants and push them down to his knees. With one hand holding him above Remy, the other grabbed Remy's right wrist and forced him to stop. He opened his eyes to see Remy giving him a quizzical look. "I don't like people undressin me. Sides, I uh- ain't got protection."

Remy nodded and smiled. "Top drawer." Leading Logan with his eyes to the nightstand where the clock sat. "Some KY in dere, too."

As Logan busied himself with undressing and readying himself, he stole glances out of the corner of his eye as Remy removed his own boxers and lay back, waiting. He let his clothes fall to the floor where Remy had let his boxers drop, beside the bed, and swallowed as he held the tube of KY in his hand, looking at Remy. "You sure about this?"

"Oui. I'm sure." Hiding his nervousness, Remy smiled up at him as Logan spread his legs to kneel between them. He was aroused, like Logan but he knew it wasn't all his emotions. He took a deep breath as Logan squeezed the open tube of jelly into a puddle on his hand before tossing it onto the nightstand.

Working the jelly onto the condom, on his erection, Logan fixed his eyes on Remy's expression. "Just relax, it hurts worse if you tense up." He spoke with genuine tenderness in his voice as he bent over, holding himself up on his right hand. "Raise yer leg and spread them a little further apart." Giving soft directions and being patient as Remy obeyed, he smiled and lowered his hips to place the tip at the tight entrance.

Hissing as Logan pushed gingerly in, he raised his hips up, off of the bed and tensed. Holding his breath a moment and then releasing, Remy apologised. "Sorry. New to dis." He smiled nervously but hadn't wanted to stop completely. "How'd ya do it for Jacques?"

Logan licked his lips in thought of how to approach the situation. Finally giving in, he lunged forward to claim Remy's lips in another deep kiss as he easily glided quickly into the tight opening. He had gelled his erection more than he ever did, which helped in the initial introduction. He had already started a slow rhythm as the kiss broke. "With him, it was much more painful. Only used leather oil back then. Wasn't exactly comfortable fer either of us." He said when he was able to get Remy to relax into his ministrations.

Remy nodded and moaned and dug his nails into Logan's arms as he held on tightly.

The gel worked itself into the skin and condom, creating more friction bit by bit. Logan's pace quickened and deepened at the same time. He could not only hear but feel Remy's heartbeat pounding in his ears. He gasped as Remy held tightly to his hips and pulled him into deep thrusts. "Unh! Gah! Mmm, Remy." That seemed to complete it. Saying Remy's name, and not Jacques' had forced Logan into orgasm. His eyes had been closed but as he said Remy's name, he saw himself making love to Jacques, on his cot, in his tent. It was only when he opened his eyes and stared at Remy, he knew that it was Remy Jacques was telling him to be with.

Removed and laying himself beside Remy, Logan sobbed quietly into the pillow. He lay on his left side, as Remy lay still on his back, in front of him, and cried. "Because I loved him, I drove him mad. It was my fault he killed himself." Admitting to the pillow because he couldn't bare to look at Remy's face.

"Non. Non." Remy rolled onto his side and looked adoringly at Logan. "Jacques went mad because he hear dat you were dead. Den, you show up, makes him t'ink dat he see your ghost. He tell his journal dat it's not your fault. He loved you so much, Logan. Didn' blame ya fer nothin, cher."

Catching his breath and hushing his sobs, he opened his eyes to see Remy staring lovingly back at him. "Never wanted this to happen, Jacques. I just.... love you." He whispered.

"I know." Remy whispered back and eased forward to lightly kiss his lips and smooth his damp black hair from his temple. "I love you too, Logan."

 

End....?


End file.
